Operation: Destiny
by OmegaGM
Summary: A tale of two hunters, taking part in one of their frequent, crowd pleasing arena matches. Little do they know, this may well be their last. Humorous, action packed and explosive, this short story is based upon real events.
1. Preparation

Preparation

"_What is this place?"_

The man, whom looked like he was in his mid-twenties, but was actually closer to his mid-thirties, pulled on his custom made under clothes. He was sure that they would protect him from what happened last time. Last time... No. He didn't want to think about it.

"_How did I get here?"_

He reached for his greaves that he had made from that one particularly difficult Jaggi he had met in that cave on the hillside. Sliding them over his bulky, muscular legs, he realised that he still hadn't gotten the rough patch sanded out. He decided that it wasn't worth worrying about, however, what was the worst it could do? Cause uncomfortable chafing?

"_Why is it so blurry?"_

Wrapping his Bnahabra wing coil around his slim waist he thought back to the time he had forgotten it. Turns out that Thunder and Dragon resistance were important when fighting the almighty Lagiacrus. Like he didn't know that already, the lady from the Guild had gone over it enough times. That scar down his left side was proof enough what a well-aimed electro-spark will do to you if you don't dodge in time.

"_Am I the only one here?"_

He took his nightshirt, the brown one, from when he received a birthday present from Junior, the chief's son. He carefully took of the nightshirt, being careful not to tear it, for it was getting too small for his ever-increasing muscles. Lifting his arms above his head, he wondered what kind of mail he was being given. Everything went dark as it was lowered over his eyes. It felt heavy on his shoulders as it was being locked into place. Finding the head hole, he pushed through and opened his eyes. Looking down he instantly recognised the muddy brown colour, the coarse texture and the ridges along the neck and shoulder pads. The Barroth ridge armour he had been supplied with gave him some insight into what he was fighting. An Uragaan perhaps, something big and rocky.

"_Am _I_ even here?"_

He looked over to the bench by his side and caught sight of the Rhenoplos vambraces lying there. Definitely an Uragaan. He looked at his large but deft hands and hoped that they would fit. His hands had to be deft, as did everybody else's, for he belonged to a team of Bowgunners. The Hawks, they called themselves, and you could tell they were from that team because they each had a Hawk eye shaped tattoo around their eye, which eye depended on which was used with the scope on the barrel of the gun. He placed his hands into the warmth's of the vambraces and felt the protection surging through him. That must be the Iron Wall Jewel I had installed doing its job then, he thought to himself.

"_Is there _anything_ here?"_

Finally, all that was left to put on was his helmet. He knew it was going to serve him well because it was a unique helm, specially designed to suit his needs. It was shaped to his slim jaw line, it compensated for his long, flowing, and crimson hair. It was originally blonde, but had been soaked in the blood of every monster he had thus far slain. There were streaks of cobalt running down his fringe that he had received from his coming of age ceremony that were made from the paste created by grinding together Lagiacrus scales and the ore of a Lazurite Jewel so it would never wash out. The helm had a visor that slid down instead of up to protect his already crooked nose from any more breakages. It had two horns protruding from either side that he had once cut from a Diablos that was once terrorising his home village. Overall, it was the sturdiest helm ever produced, and it's creator, the Wyverian Smith from Moga Village, was proud to place it on his prodigy's head at last.

"_And if so, is it even real?"_

"You ready, Foxkin?" Came a voice from the other end of the room.

"As I'll ever be, Wolfstock." The man replied confidently.

"Good, 'cause it's time to go." The voice called out in response, "The audience want a bloodbath, we'll give 'em one."

"_Is this place even real?"_

Out from the shadows came a tall, thin, well built yet beautiful, woman. She was already armoured up and was currently feeding bullets into her Bowgun. She had chosen a Lightweight, fast and manoeuvrable, but with noticeable recoil. Her helm didn't fully cover her face, and so her lower jaw was on full display, revealing her soft complexion, rounded yet firm chin, and sumptuous blood red lips. They moved softly and gracefully as she spoke, making every word elegant, like cussing in French. They were a sharp contrast to the way in which she used her words, which was as though there was a mace bludgeoning every sentence before it left her mouth. That mouth. Foxkin could not concentrate on anything else.

"_Wolfstock? Are you with me in here too?"_

"You listening to me, Foxkin?" Wolfstock said impatiently, placing her hands as near to her curvaceous hips as she could, with all that armour in the way. The armour wasn't very flattering, it never is.

"Uh, yeah." Foxkin stuttered, broken out of his daze. He was unaware that he had looked not entirely dissimilar to a Kelbi in a trance.

"Well good, now grab your weapon. It's time to rock."

"_Am I supposed to be here?"_

Foxkin moved over to the weapon rack as everything went dark in the prep room. The arena officials were clearly giving into the crowds yelling. He could hear the cheers of the crowd outside, eagerly awaiting the brawl that was about to take place. He couldn't see the weapon he was reaching for, so he had to rely on his sense of touch. He remembered that his Bowgun was long and thin, with a pointed end. Eventually he came to what felt like the correct weapon. It had the wrong texture, though. It felt more like Royal Ludroth hide than the Quropeco flint his Bowgun was made from. Must be the new upgrades, he thought to himself as he strapped it to his back.

"_How long have I been here?"_

He thought back to the first time he used his Bowgun, the first bullet he had landed straight in the raging Aptonoth's back, the first time he had to reload it, the way it clicked with each bullet fired, the way the recoil felt as clean and as smooth as his woman's loving embrace, and the way it rested, folded in half, on the holster strapped to his back. He now realised that it wasn't his Bowgun that was strapped to his back, it didn't feel quite right, it wouldn't fold, and he couldn't feel the deftness flowing through his arms from all the decorative jewels he had installed. He came to realise that, in the dark, he had instead reached towards the Lance rack, and had grabbed a Spiral Lance. This, by a startling coincidence, was in fact, the only weapon in existence that he could not wield effectively. He had not yet mastered the subtle strengths that the Lance provided. The hilt felt alien to his hands, which were best suited to the intuitive intricacies of a Bowgun.

"_How long have I got left?"_

Unfortunately, there was no time to go back and exchange the Lance for his Bowgun, the crowd expected a fight, and they expected one now. The grand doors opened, a blinding light flooded the prep room, almost blinding the two Monster Hunters. They stepped forwards, out through the door and into the Arena. The crowd roared with applause at the sight of these two fighters, for they were renowned all around the world as the best tag-team in history. The Fox and the Wolf, they were called, and there was not a monster they could not take down.

"_What's that light? Or is it darkness?"_

Once Foxkin's eyes had adjusted to the new lighting conditions, he looked around, taking in all he could, for he needed to know his surroundings well before he could fight a monster. He realised that he would be at an advantage, for this was an Arena he knew well, the Desert Arena.

"Good luck, Foxkin. Good luck." Wolfstock whispered to him.

"_It hurts. It hurts like hell. It fucking hurts like fucking hell."_

Foxkin looked out into the Arena, saw a sight that he never wanted to see, and promptly soiled his custom made underclothes. For there, out in the midst of the rocky Arena, was a pair of Barroths. Their rocky body, their stumpy arms and oversized legs, their giant tails for scooping mud and sand from the ground, their giant ridged heads, suitable for ramming into unsuspecting travellers. All these aspects drove fear into the heart of Foxkin. He realised that he would need all the good luck he could get.

"_Why couldn't I have picked the fucking Bowgun?"_

"If this is our Destiny, I'm prepared to face it without fear." Foxkin muttered under his breath. Wolfstock heard this utterance due to her fine tuned ears. Being blind had its advantages.

"Let's make this a battle for the ages, my love." She replied.

"Let's." Foxkin said in response.

They took their first steps into the Arena. Into their final battle. Into their destiny.

"_Fuck."_


	2. Humans

Humans

"FUCK!"

Foxkin swore loudly as he patched up a large gash in his left arm. It was bleeding intensely and he did not want an infection this early into the summer. Summer was always the time when the Arena was at its busiest. The internal organs of the monsters were still in their spring form, tender and full of fresh, crimson blood, as opposed to in winter when they were hard and deep purple. Unfortunately for the monsters, this was most entertaining for the sadistic audience who were not appeased unless they had a full day of intense, gory, brutal slaying. This was also not complete unless the hunters promptly bathed, naked, in the blood afterwards.

_Humans are a sadistic, twisted people._

Wolfstock quickly re-aimed her Bowgun towards Foxkin, loaded it with Health bullets, and fired. Spinning round, Foxkin saw the cannonball-sized bullet lodged in the wall. Grunting and groaning, he managed to pull it from its impact crater.

"Fuck me." Foxkin said in exhaustion.

"That's not the first time you've said that." Wolfstock responded teasingly, putting on her sexy voice.

"No! I didn't mean that. I meant that the little bastard was really stuck in there."

"That's not the first time you've said that either." She replied in the deep, husky tone she usually used in the bedroom.

"Just focus on the Barroth." Foxkin said, tired of the conversation already.

Foxkin pressed a button on the side of the bullet, a small crack appeared in the top, the bullet unfolded and a mega potion emerged from within. Drinking the potion, Foxkin realised that his wound was healing at a quicker rate. The bleeding started to slow and the pain started to alleviate.

_Humans are a lustful, sex-driven people._

Looking up, Foxkin realised that the Barroth was focusing all its attention on Wolfstock. It began to urinate on the ground, preparing for its signature attack. It scooped up the wet, sticky sand with its tail and raised it, steadying itself for the fling.

Grabbing his Lance from the floor, he made his way over to the Barroth, yelling to try and draw its attention.

"Oi!" he yelled, "Fat arse! I'm over here you fucker!"

"Yes, that'll deal with the problem." Wolfstock shouted sarcastically, "Swearing is the solution to all of life's problems. Well, for a man anyway."

"It's working though isn't it?" Foxkin replied as the hulking beast turned its attention towards him.

Gripping his Lance tightly, he roared and charged at the angered Barroth. The Barroth responded accordingly, in that it roared and charged right back. Meeting in the middle of the arena, the Barroth swung its huge head towards Foxkin, knocking him clean off the ground. As Foxkin soared through the air, he came to realise that he wasn't carrying his weapon anymore. Twisting his body round, he saw that it had been lodged underneath the monsters kneecap. He smiled, thinking that he had finally wounded the creature.

"What have you done?" cried out Wolfstock in despair as Foxkin came crashing to the ground, "It's only gotten angrier now!"

Getting to his feet, Foxkin realised that his Lance only served as an annoyance to the already raging Barroth. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the weapon hadn't fully lodged itself inside the creatures' knee. Instead, it was at a slight angle, and had about as much effect as a splinter.

_Humans are a stupid, clumsy people._

"Shoot!" Foxkin yelled.

"What happened to all the swearing? You know, "Fuck this!" and "Fuck that!" Why the family friendliness all of a sudden?" Wolfstock yelled back sarcastically.

"No, I mean literally, SHOOT!"

Wolfstock cleared her mind, forgetting about all distractions. She closed all her senses except one. She heard the crunch of the sand under the Barroths feet, the crash of its tail whipping the ground, the soft sigh of the wind redirecting itself around the sheer bulk of the monster, the faint rhythm of the creatures beating heart.

"When I'm done with you, that heart will be sitting on my mantelpiece. Still beating." She whispered, "Now doesn't that scare you? Doesn't that just strike fear into your very soul? Of course not. For you don't have a soul, do you? You're a monster. A cold-blooded killer. Just like me. But you know what separates the two of us?"

She pulled out a single bullet, and loaded it.

"I have intelligence."

She raised her Bowgun.

"I have someone who loves me."

She aimed.

"And most of all. I. Have. Bullets."

She fired.

_Humans are an intelligent, deadly people._

The bullet landed, piercing the Barroths rocky hide. It cried out in pain, obviously surprised to have been hurt in such a way. Looking down, it realised that it was bleeding heavily. Ignoring this, however, it continued to rampage, wreaking destruction on the wall next to it.

"It did nothing!" Wolfstock yelled, "What now?"

"Shoot the Lance!" Foxkin replied, he reasoned that it might just be the thing he needed to lodge his weapon further into the beast's leg, perhaps doing some lasting damage in the process.

Wolfstock did as she was told, feeling for the vibrations in the air, searching for the one that would tell her were the Lance was located. She felt the particular frequency that could only belong to the hilt of a Lance and quickly fired before she lost it again. The bullet soared through the air at phenomenal speeds and scored a direct hit on the tip of the handle, exploding on impact. The force of it sent the Lance deeper into the flesh of the monster, snapping a tendon. Roaring in pain, the Barroth collapsed, unable to support its massive weight with only one working leg. As it landed, a great impact crater was formed, sending layers of sand and rock flying into the air. Some of this landed in the beasts wound, mixing with the blood and open flesh. It lay there, writhing in agony, all the while bleeding profusely.

"We got it!" Foxkin cried out, a sense of victory in his voice.

"Don't be so sure, wait a little longer, it may be a ruse." Wolfstock replied, gripping the frame of her Bowgun more tightly.

_Humans are a cautious, wary people._

After some time, the Barroth finally stopped thrashing around and lay limp, its eyes losing focus. And there it lay, dead. Gradually, Foxkin approached it, remaining wary of any sudden movements the body may make. The entire crowd was silent, holding their breaths with anticipation. A low groan echoed around the stadium and Foxkin tensed, terrified that the beast would arise and swat him away with a flick of its tail.

"Don't worry," Wolfstock whispered, thankful that for the first time in the entire battle, she didn't have to raise her voice to be heard, "It's just the digestive system relaxing. I wouldn't stand too close if I were you."

"Great, so the last thing this hulking lump will do is take a shit. How very monstrous."

At that very moment, the corpse groaned again and the surrounding area was suddenly sprayed with a vile, stinking and sloppy brown liquid.

"Looks like it had a very watery diet." Wolfstock commented, failing miserably to hold back a smirk.

A nearby pile of excrement started trembling, after a few moments it rose, in all its dripping glory. Foxkin began to wipe Barroth faeces away from his helm, clearly un-amused. Wolfstock, however, erupted into a fit of laughter, unable to control herself. So did the crowd.

"THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY!" Foxkin roared.

"I beg to differ." Wolfstock replied, still grinning madly.

_Humans are a carefree, joke loving people._

Just then, a sound of grinding gears and rattling chains came from the other side of the arena. The second Barroth was released. It charged forth, ecstatic to be able to move freely once again. Noticing the two hunters that stood before it, one smelling strangely similar to another Barroth, it reared its ugly head and attacked.

Reacting with the lightning speed she was famed for, Wolfstock instantly fired an explosive round at the Barroths foot, tripping it. It fell to the ground with a thunderous crash that shook the entire arena. Foxkin saw this as an opportunity and ran forward, Lance in hand. The Barroth would not be felled by such a pitiful attack, however, and brought up its massive jaws. Clamping down hard on the weapon, the beast swung its head back and forth in an attempt to shake off the hunter grasping the handle. Foxkin hung on with all his might, knowing that just the tiniest slip would cost him his life. Fearing for the life of her partner, Wolfstock fired a flaming round at the monsters eye. However, overcome by fear, her shot missed its target, instead heading directly for the one thing keeping Foxkin alive.

The Lance splintered. An eruption of fire from the round showered over both Foxkin and the vicious beast before him. A searing pain shot through Foxkin's body as the fire roasted his flesh. The bone from which the Lance was made went flying in all directions, with a few landing in the Barroths eye. It screamed in pain and, in doing so, released what hold of Foxkin it had. Foxkin, slipping into unconsciousness, was flung through the air, smacking against a nearby wall. A loud cracking was heard, and he realised that one of his bones had been broken. Slumped in the crater formed in the wall from the impact, Foxkin's eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious.

_Humans are a weak, brittle people._

The crowd could only watch in horror at the scene that was unfolding before them. A monster spilling blood from its wounded eyes, a hunter who had been burned, broken and on the brink of death, and another hunter, frozen with fear.


	3. Sacrifice

Operation Destiny

Foxkin awoke to find himself somewhere completely different to the arena he expected.

"What is this place?" he asked nobody in particular. "How did I get here? Why is it so blurry?" He looked around, attempting to assess the situation, just like he had been taught in training. He was in an empty space. It had no edges, no surroundings, and no conceivable light source. Even with the apparent lack of light, Foxkin found he could see perfectly well.

"Am I the only one here? Am _I_ even here? Is there _anything_ here? And if so, is it even real? Is this place even real?" He began walking. To where, he wasn't quite sure. Although he knew that he had to walk anyway.

"Wolfstock? Are you with me in here too?" Foxkin asked, almost yelling, for he found that all sound was slowly fading away. He broke into a run. Desperate to see his partner again, he searched frantically for a way out. Eventually he gave up, aware that he was getting nowhere. Everything looked the same. Hell, everything _was_ the same. No amount of running would make a difference; Foxkin was nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

"Am I supposed to be here?" he asked himself, "How long have I been here? How long have I got left?"

Foxkin squinted, noticing something in what appeared to be the distance, "What's that light? Or is it darkness?" he collapsed to the ground, a sudden pain shooting through his entire body, rendering his muscles completely useless.

"It hurts." he whispered, struggling to even make a sound, "It hurts like hell. It fucking hurts like fucking hell."

"Why couldn't I have picked the fucking Bowgun?" he said as he wondered whether it would have made a difference to how the battle would have turned out.

"Fuck." The pain consumed him, as did the shining darkness.

"FOXKIN! Foxkin? Are you there? Oh, please don't say you're dead. I will never, ever forgive you if you've died. There is nothing in this godforsaken world that is capable of killing you while I'm around. And if anything tries, I will hunt it down, slice it open and feast on its heart. So if you've died from fighting something as weak, puny and unimportant as a Barroth then I don't know what I'll do."

Wolfstock wiped the tears from her blind eyes and dug her face into Foxkin's bare chest, his charred body armour thrown to one side. Suddenly, Wolfstock heard something that caught her completely off guard. Rhythm. The slow, steady rhythm of a heartbeat. She broke away from her partner's chest and listened closely. It was definitely Foxkin's heartbeat. But it was slow. Too slow to sustain extended movement, let alone a fight against a monster such as this. Why was his body trying so hard to live, when all hope was gone?

"F… fu… fuck."

"What?" Wolfstock said in surprise.

"I said, 'Fuck'." Foxkin answered quietly, clearly struggling to make a noise.

"You. You're alive?"

"It would appear that way. What about the Barroth? Is it dead? Did you kill it?"

"No. It's still alive. It's resting. Which means that the longer we sit here talking…"

"The more time it has to regain it's strength."

"Exactly."

"Well then, we'd best go and finish the job." Foxkin said, struggling to his feet.

"You can't! Your body still isn't capable of movement yet. It's impossible!" Wolfstock cried out.

"I spit in the face of impossible." Foxkin replied, a deadly serious look on his face, "No-one can tell me what I am or am not capable of. If I want to do something, I'll do it. No matter the cost, no matter the struggle, no matter the casualties. I'll kill anyone who stands in my way. So do what I say. Now."

Wolfstock slowly rose, knowing that Foxkin had become dangerous. In this state, he was likely to murder as many living things as it took to appease his anger. The two of them walked over to where the incapacitated Barroth lay.

"Where's my Lance?" Foxkin asked calmly.

"Shattered." Wolfstock responded, trying her best to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Why's it shattered?"

Wolfstock did not answer.

"Fine. Where's your Bowgun?"

"Over there." She said, pointing to a spot a few metres away, "Why?"

"I've got a plan. Get me a large exploding barrel from the side of the arena."

"Why? What're you going to do with it?"

"Don't question me. Now do as I say. If you don't, we don't have a chance in hell of killing this thing. And I should know, I've been there."

Wolfstock promptly sprinted away to gather the equipment Foxkin had requested. She had no idea what was going through his mind, yet she knew it was destructive. In no time at all, she was stood next to her lover and set down all the equipment she was holding.

"Good. Now load your Bowgun with every Wyvern Fire bullet you have." Foxkin commanded.

"I've only got the one." Wolfstock said apologetically.

"Well then," Foxkin said without changing his tone or raising his voice, "You'd best make it count, hadn't you?"

Wolfstock did as she was instructed, carefully loading her bullet. She made sure she eliminated all chances of faults or misfires. This time, no mistakes could be made.

"It's done." She said, after performing various checks.

"Then let's get his show on the road."

Foxkin grabbed a hold of the large explosive barrel and slowly walked towards the injured Barroth. The cheering of the crowd faded away, first becoming white noise, and then, nothing at all. Every detail of the surrounding arena blurred. Foxkin had one point of concentration, the monsters eyes. He stared into them, long and hard, as if trying to stare it down. The Barroth became aware of his presence and stood, struggling at first, but soon regaining its balance. Eventually the two stood perfectly still only a few paces apart. The hulking beast lowered its head to be at the same level as Foxkin. The hunter himself, unafraid, could feel its breath against his body and did his best not to react to the horrific stench.

"Look, demon," Foxkin growled, barely audible, "I've had enough of your shit. You sent me to Hell and I came back. Does that not say something to you? I came back from Hell. Fucking Hell. And now it's time you went there. Only you won't come back. You want to know why? Because I'm better than you. Stronger. Smarter. Better. Now I'm going to ask you one thing. Do you feel pain? I hope you do. Because this is going to fucking hurt."

He set the barrel down between himself and the monster.

"Wolfstock!" He yelled, "Do you trust me?"

"Of course!" She yelled back.

"Well then do exactly as I say, no matter the consequences!"

"Why? What are you doing?"

"Something stupid! But extremely clever!"

"What do you mean?"

"If I move, this thing's going to follow me. I've placed the barrel between us, and you're going to shoot it. The fucking thing is too stupid to understand what's going on, and it's lowered its head, completely revealing its neck. The explosion will surely kill it."

"What? But you'll die too! You're not even wearing your armour! I can't do that!"

"You just agreed to do whatever I told you!"

"But this is madness!"

"No. This is hunting."

"You're completely mad!"

"No. I am a hunter. And this will be my ultimate hunt. I'm doing everything I can to kill this fucker, even if that means I sacrifice myself."

"But… I can't… You're my… I mean… I love you!"

With that, tears streaming from her eyes, Wolfstock fired. The flaming bullet flew through the air, travelling at incomprehensible speeds, and sure enough, it found its mark. The barrels wooden case shattered and ignited simultaneously, the gunpowder inside set alight instantly, and the explosion itself was so powerful, so great, that before the two opponents even heard the gunshot, they were both caught up in the chaos. Flames engulfed the surrounding area, shards of wood and metal implanted themselves in every piece of nearby flesh, and the shockwave created sent everything careening backwards. Blood erupted from both monster and hunter, and flesh was roasted quickly. The Barroth was killed instantaneously, its neck torn to pieces. The hunter was not so lucky, every flame, every flesh wound, he felt it all. However, amongst the chaos, amongst the terror, amongst the pain itself, he still smiled, safe in the knowledge that the creature he had come back from Hell itself to kill was finally dead.

Landing on the other side of the arena, Foxkin quickly lost all feeling in his body, and his senses slowly started to fail him. The sound of the crowd, unsure whether to cheer or cry out in terror, the sound of the explosion, still ringing in everyone's ears, and the sound of Wolfstock, screaming at life itself, faded away. His sight was the last thing to go. As everything faded to black, Foxkin decided to welcome death, for he had already seen what Hell had to offer, and he was unafraid. He would find his way through the nothingness to the pits of flame, anguish and demons he had been told of. He would meet with the Devil Himself, and he would tear Him limb from limb. Foxkin would create a new Hell. And he would reign supreme.


End file.
